Why I Hate Winter: Reason #18,542

[caption id="attachment_1210" align="alignright" width="280" caption="From the photo archives: Betsy in Winter, 2008"][/caption]

I got off work at 7:30 this morning and was delighted to see that Keith, the maintenance man at the building where I work, had cleared off my car for me.  Since I was dreading doing it myself, it was both a surprise and a delight!  But I knew that the challenge of getting home to bed wasn't over just yet.

Approximately 3-4 times each winter -- whenever we have a snow/ice mix -- my car Betsy enjoys putting me through my paces.  It has been a tradition since my very first winter as a member of the motoring public.  Here is the account of my initiation to this unique experience.

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December 10, 2005

So, starting yesterday afternoon and overnight last night, we had our first real winter precipitation of the year, and my first experiences as a winter driver. Because I had to meet my family for breakfast this morning at 7:45 AM, I dutifully headed out to my car at 7:15 AM to begin my "readying the car" ritual. Hubby had told me it would take 15 minutes, so I figured I had plenty of time.

As I reached the car, I happily noticed that the snow wasn't very deep and that I should be able to just drive away with no problems once the car warmed up. The windows were all glazed over with a mixture of ice and snow, but I knew that, with the help of my trusty ice scraper and the heat of the car, it wouldn't take very long to get rid of it. So I pressed the little UNLOCK button on my keyless entry remote and walked over to the driver's side door.

It wouldn't open.

Doors freeze in winter, I thought to myself. No problem! It's a four-door car -- I only need one in four to open and I can go from there.

Except none of them would open. I pulled as hard as I could on each and every handle, to no avail. In desperation, I whipped out my cell phone, asking Hubby if he had any advice. "Try a different door," was the best he could come up with. After I told him I'd tried all four, he said, "Well, you'll have to hook your fingers around one of them and try to pry it open."

Frowning, I hung up and went to Door #1. As I'd suspected, there was no way my fingers were ever going to fit in the crack around the door. Just to be sure, I tried all four, but had no luck.

By this time, I was starting to get a little perturbed. "Try a different door," I muttered, pausing in my consternation long enough to wave at the next-door neighbour who had come out to effortlessly start her car. Then it dawned on me. There was still a "door" I hadn't tried.

I walked around to the back of the car and pulled out the keyless remote again, this time pushing the Trunk button. I heard it unlatch, but it did not fly open as I'd prayed it would. There was, however, enough room for me to hook my fingers around the bottom corners of it, and having done that, I both leaned forward and jumped at the same time. Three hops later, the trunk swung up and open.

Putting the keys safely into my zippered pocket, I tucked my purse into the corner of the trunk and then leaned in to pull the rear seat release straps. Hearing those let go, I took a deep breath, pondered for a moment, and swung one leg up into the trunk, and sat down. I swung the other one in, then swivelled and scrunched so that my feet were resting against the backs of the rear seats, and then kicked them so they folded down.

I was now laying on my back, half in the trunk and half in the backseat, and trying to figure out how my next step (whatever it might be) would avoid braining myself on the lengthy screws protruding from the ceiling of the trunk. I decided I'd have to do a 180-degree turn in order to pull myself into the backseat and go from there.

At this moment, a man appeared on the sidewalk about three houses away. As he walked along, he noticed something very bizarre coming up in front of him -- a car completely covered by snow and ice, not running, with the trunk wide open. Perhaps thinking someone had made a mistake, or worse, been robbed, he decided to investigate. Imagine his shock at what he discovered inside: a woman, lying on her back, knees up and towards the rear bumper, looking for all the world like she's waiting for a Pap test.

"Uh, hello?" he asked.

"Hi!" I replied.

"Are ... you okay?"

"Yup! My doors are just frozen shut."

"Uh ... can I ... help?"

"No, I'm fine," I replied cheerily. "But thank you, though!"

(Please bear in mind that I couldn't sit up, and even if I could have, the windows were all opaque with snow. For all intents and purposes, we were faceless strangers to one another. I think I'm glad.)

So I heard his footsteps fade away, and I hauled myself up into a semi-seated position. Take it from me -- there's not much headroom left once you're sitting on the backs of those seats! But I managed to reach over the driver's seat, put the key in the ignition, start her up, and crank the heat. Then I reached for the snowbrush, only to discover that it was on the floor in the backseat, now totally obstructed. The only way I was going to get at it was to flip the seats back up.

Since the left rear door was closest, I pulled the handle and slammed against it with my arm and shoulder ... twice. No good. I tried the same method on the rear right door. Still no good. Finally, I scooted on my back as close as I could to the door and kicked it hard with both feet. Success!!! Feeling quite pleased with myself, I slid out the door and flipped the seats up again, then grabbed the snow brush/scraper. I reached into the trunk, grabbed my purse and slammed the trunk shut, then dropped the purse into the front passenger seat and closed the rear right door and began scraping. As I went around the car, I could hear Andy Williams singing "The Most Wonderful Time of the Year" on the car stereo. Oh, the irony.

Once the car was cleaned off, I wondered if the heat had eased the door situation. It hadn't. Since it was obvious I was going to be late, I decided I'd had enough. I opened up the rear right door, climbed in and pulled it shut, then climbed over and through the bucket seats and into my rightful place behind the wheel.

As I drove along, deciding which route to take to the restaurant, I firmly made up my mind that a heated garage was the way to go. That way, Betsy (the car) could thaw out while I ate a leisurely breakfast and socialized with my family. Congratulating myself on my surprising intelligence for so early on a Saturday, I sung along with the Christmas carols until I reached the parking garage -- and the ticket dispenser.

Sure enough, the window was still completely frozen, as was the window behind me. My door still wouldn't open, either. Throwing Betsy into Park, I climbed into the back seat and went out the way I'd gotten in. The sound of the door caught the attendant's attention and he watched me walk around the back of the car, hit the big green button on the ticket dispenser, walk back around the car, enter through the back right door, slam it shut and tumble into the driver's seat again. (He got to watch it all again after I got the car parked in a spot and had to get out to go to the restaurant.)

When I finally got to the restaurant, and my sister greeted me, I replied, "You wouldn't believe the lengths I would go to for you."

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So I've gotten pretty used to the trunk thing over the years, and this morning I had the pleasure of three brand-new witnesses.  Once I was finally in the car heading home, I was relieved to know I'd soon be safe in bed, asleep with the three pets.  But Betsy still had one more little holiday gift for me.  As I was driving down the highway, the ice on the stuck passenger side door thawed.  In the midst of rush hour traffic, the door flew open, as if Betsy were waving triumphantly to all who could see her. Gotcha! she cackled at me, while I muttered more than a few blue consonants.

I hate winter.